


Beyond Two Heralds

by AnnieAnnProps



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieAnnProps/pseuds/AnnieAnnProps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the same path, walked by two sisters side by side, the same journey at the same time. But unable to reach out to the one who walked beside them.<br/>The two, a mage and a rogue, one smiles the other smirks, a nod in agreement. The smell of ink, the touch of a quill, their story will be told. <br/>And so atop a mountain, where once sat a sacred temple is where the Adaar sisters embarked on their journey as two very different heralds of two identical worlds.</p>
<p>Varric, this one’s for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Humans talk of the fade as an evil place where demons stalk you around every corner, jaws full of sharp jagged teeth ready to devour your entire being. They warn those of magic to tread carefully in its endless lands and to look at everything with disbelief. Nothing is real in the fade, it is just what you want to see, the failed lands of the Maker’s first attempts of life. 

That is what humans tell themselves to help them sleep at night.

The fade is different for everyone

For now, it is calm and quiet. Clusters of rock and rubble drift lazily through the air. Not quite ‘air’ since neither of them has yet to feel the urge to breath. 

Beside each other they sit, no humming or buzzing; incessant whispers or embers of the chest. There is peace in the vast nothingness.

In the end, it all makes sense in a way; all is plausible in the realm of magic after all. In the back of Herah’s mind, she was silently accusing the Maker of being the greatest asshole prankster in all of Thedas, if he even exists. 

Years ago, she once believed her faith would stand strong against any trials. 

Years ago, believing was all it took.

“So this is the infamous fade?”

Her sister gives her a silent nod. To her, this is all very unimpressive,something she could access in a blink of an eye. She had spent countless hours wandering the plains, but for her non-mage sister, it was something that rarely happened, and when it did, terror was the only thing that greeted her.

The fade is this way to the vashoth

“It’s a lot nicer than all the other times we came here.” 

They share a chuckle, a somber understanding laid hidden under the comment. The last time they had been the fade was when…

The not-air shifts, the nothingness manifesting into jagged rocks with a monstrous creature thrashing about, scattering dust and boulders with its limbs. It roars with every attempt to strike at the blinking shadow that dances around it, twisted mixtures of the elements erupting from their staff. 

In a blink, the moment is gone. 

Again they sit in silence

They hadn’t seen each other in so long and yet, they seem to already know what the other has been up to. Verbal stories are inefficient in the realm of the fade, rather, the horizon before them would flicker into different scenes. Events of towering dragons, adorable nugs, frenzied templars. Of joyous nights at the tavern and the endless games of diamondback. 

Of warm nights with a certain elf that had captured both their hearts

Of heartbreak, revelation

Of apologies

But these memories are muddled and out of order; in a language that has only two speakers.   
The world around them changes into an empty yet cozy tavern, the smell of piss and vomit hits their senses even though no air enters their lungs. There is the sound of chattering patrons but there are none to be seen. Across the table is a person very familiar to them whose face is too young for the strain and weight that had once been placed upon her shoulders. But what has not been set on her face has been buried in her eyes. 

The ale wets their tongues but does not fill their stomachs. 

“Where to begin?” 

The thought runs across all their minds.

It’s hard to pinpoint where this all began, and exactly where we all played a part in their tale. 

When Aveline Adaar was born? 

No, too long ago. 

Perhaps when her sister, Herah Adaar, stepped in to save my life.

Closer, but still a little…

How about when the path became split by a paperthin wall. It was the same path, walked by two sisters side by side, the same journey at the same time.

But unable to reach out to the one who walked beside them.

The two, a mage and a rogue, one smiles the other smirks, a nod in agreement. The smell of ink, the touch of a quill, their story will be told. 

And so atop a mountain, where once sat a sacred temple is where the Adaar sisters embarked on their journey as two very different heralds of two identical worlds.

Varric, this one’s for you.


	2. TouchStone

" _You should've seen her face, all hot and bothered like i just caught her with her knickers down. Thought maybe she'd never so much as heard of the word "sex", maker was I wrong." - Herah_

Drip

Drip

_I wonder if they design all jail cells with leaks. Great way to drive prisoners insane._

Drip

Drip

The cold air was heavy with moisture, constantly reminding Herah of its temperature by nipping at her exposed hand and face. Her head throbbed with every crackle of the sick green light.

A smirk tugged at her lips, the soldiers surrounding her would flinch at every spark.

"You blokes can't be scared of a little light. Maker forbid that you ever walk out into the sun, might make you soil your trousers." She snickered to hide another round of stabbing pain that coursed up her arm.

They don't comment, though they do nervously glance at one another. Their outstretched swords wavered slightly.

_What a bore_

Suddenly, the door bursted open, the frigid air that rushed in sent a violent shiver down the Herah's spine. She instantly recognized the two women who stormed in, her jaw slackening.

Cassandra was the first to speak as she stormed in, her thick soled boots striking the uneven stone floor.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now. The conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead, except for you."

The hairs on the back of Herah's neck rose as the seeker strode behind her and out of view. On edge and in pain, she did her best to recall the events before her awakening in the cell.

But like a hand grasping for smoke-

"What are you talking about?"

A rough shove sent her face first to the ground, the grit of rocks dug into her face. Though she had braced herself for this the moment she saw the warrior walk through the door, the shock was still able to tear a gasp from her lips.

"Hey, Cassandra, no need to be so rough. If you wanted my ass in the air, you could've simply asked."

It wasn't the smartest, or the healthiest, idea to taunt the right hand, she knew this. However, the combined stress of being alone, unarmed and restrained with only cloudy memories sent her brain into overdrive. She only knew of one way to cope; biting humor.

Herah looked up, expecting the warrior to be fuming and ready to hit her again when the anticipated blow doesn't come. It was Leliana that loomed above her with a frown. Though behind her stood Cassandra red faced and indignant.

"How do you know her name, qunari?"

Of course she wouldn't be expected to know the faces of Chantry leadership, not many outside of the chant did. Though her early life was secretive, it would not be outside the woman's power to learn some part of it.

Which meant that the spymaster hadn't had enough time to delve deep into her past.

A temporary upper hand if she wanted it to be.

"I am a Vashoth, thank you very much Leliana, I have nothing against the Qun, but still, not the biggest fan." Her attempts to lighten the suffocating mood only served to irritate Cassandra further.

With a sigh, Herah sat herself up and stared at the pair, Her lips recited the single chant that she held the dearest to her heart. "All men are the work of our Maker's Hands, From the lowest slaves To the highest kings."

A vague chant that allowed for her to believe in the Maker, a sense of belonging.

"Transfigurations 1," Leliana whispered out, her arm slowly lowering, "You are…"

Herah grinned widely, enjoying the look of surprise on the woman's face.

"Andrastian, damn proud of it. Used attend the chantry back in Kirkwall before, you know, it kind of blew up and stuff."

In one swift motion, Cassandra pushed past Leliana and lifted the vashoth by the front of her coat, teeth bared and eyes angry. Rage and disgust rolled off the woman in waves, as if the thought of a qunari setting foot in a Chantry was the greatest insult she had ever heard.

No, it was never that simple. Cassandra no doubt had friends amongst those who died in the explosion that Herah was speaking so lightheartedly about.

"You're lying!"

Saemus was a valuable ally in a city already hateful toward anything with horns. She taught him some of the more agreeable values of the Qun, traded philosophies with him while he helped her find a purpose with the Maker. He was a good man, a great friend, someone who did not deserve to die the way he did.

That was then, when she tried to the world seriously. Life was too short not to have a little fun.

"Me, lying to a seeker of truth? Dear sister, that would be a sinful death wish."

The moment Cassandra's jaw tightened, Herah knew she was going to regret her smart mouth.

_And this is why I would never survive under the Qun._

A sickening crunch rang out as a knee slammed into her stomach. Herah crumpled to the floor, her breathing ragged and strained. She glanced up, the smirk falling from her lips.

A sword stood level with her face.

"I should save Val Royeaux the trouble and execute you right now."

"We need her Cassandra-"

"I want to help." Herah gasped out through the screaming pain and the whispers in her chest. Herah pushed herself to sit back up, grunting softly at the exertion.

All tones of taunting gone, her mouth pressed into a thin line, she looked at the two with burning conviction.

"No more jokes, yeah. I would love to tell you what happened at the temple but I can't remember, but I'll do what can to help. Maybe we can help each other."

The mark on her hand sputtered for a moment, reminding them all how particular the circumstances were. The ache felt as though it was pulling her, not in any particular direction, just simply tugging her... Somewhere.

"And that would be?"

Aveline Adaar, the woman she had spent her whole life beside, both in combat and in peace. In the terms of the Chantry, she was Herah's charge, her responsibility even though Aveline was the older sibling.

"Where is my sister?"

Cassandra along with Herah looked to Leliana expectantly. Surely something so obvious would show up on any reports of her. They had travelled together up until this point, even entered the conclave within arms reach of each other.

"Your sister?"

The rogue almost rolled her eyes, her bout of seriousness quickly coming to an end.

"Yes my sister. I know what you can do, no doubt had a little time to dig into my past. We came here together, all of the Valo-kas company knows of us."

More silence filled the room. Against the screaming protests of her ribs, Herah rose to her feet and limped over to look into the redhead's eyes. Something sharp prodded into her side. Right, Cassandra still had her sword drawn. The fact she hadn't tried to stop Herah was proof that the seeker was just as curious.

The whispers in her chest grew louder, demanding answers through any means; written in blood, screamed in pain. It was a fight that all Qunari had to endure, a problem that the Qun did it's best to remedy.

She strained to distract herself.

_No, do not reach for Cassandra's sword_.

_No, do not take the dagger hidden in Leliana's boot_

Its outline had been obvious when she was groveling on the floor.

Instincts must be muted.

"My sister, lady nightingale, Aveline Adaar. Mage, a bit taller than me, always looking like there's a stick shoved up her ass, wicked tattoos on the left side of her face and back."

A moment passed, the whispers are now screams.

Nothing

She loomed over the shorter woman, her voice low.

"Dear sister Leliana, if I find out you are withholding information, even the Maker won't be able to protect you."

They both held their breaths, there was danger glinting in Herah's steel grey eyes while leliana's remained expressionless and cold. She couldn't tell if the human can see past her front because deep down, past the anger, laid a swirling pit of worry.

Because she remembered what Cassandra had said before-

"Enough! You are in no position to be making threats." The seeker pushed the two apart, making a point to press the blade onto Herah's chest. "We did not find anyone else alive up there, so if she did follow you-"

A sharp glare from Herah and Cassandra reluctantly dropped the statement. She knew the look well, she saw it in the mirror whenever her brother crossed her mind.

Herah shook her head, her teeth nervously chewed at her bottom lip. It's not true. Can't be, her sister was a powerful mage, if she, a simple rogue, survived the blast; surely Aveline could've found a way.

She must be alive.

"This," she raised the hand that bore the sickly green mark, "is what makes me so damned important to all of this, isn't it. The only reason why you haven't run me through yet right?"

Cassandra grunted in affirmation.

_At least it's good for something_

"Well it seems like there's a problem that needs fixing. Let's get to it."

Anything to keep her mind focused, redirect her anger, the maker wouldn't be pleased if she slaughtered his brightest children after all.

...

" _Powder blue satin shoes with long ribbons that circle the ankle. Gold lace trim and dangling gold charms shaped like puppies add the finishing touches. A gift from her Warden lover." - Aveline_

She remembered the first time she killed someone in the fade, she was barely a decade old

It was during their second year with the Sabrae clan. Although they traveled wherever the elves went, the Adaar family would always camp a ways off to not attract attention to the clan.

The two sisters loved to hunt during the night when things were quiet and the animals still. Aveline, for some strange reason, could easily locate where their next meal slept. But that night, what awoke her were whispers from across the veil of something in the forest that shouldn't have been there.

"Av, where are we going, we just got a ram yesterday. We don't got to hunt for at least a week."

The mage ignored her sisters pining, urging her to keep quiet as they snuck away from their sleeping parents. Deeper they meandered through the woods, the voices chanted louder.

"We are not hunting for food tonight."

Herah stopped in mid joke and her tiny hands tightly gripped her daggers, she knew her sisters tone well. No, that night they weren't stalking after a simple nug or drufallo; they were after something a bit more exciting.

It wasn't long until they could smell smoke and see the warm glow of a fire. Aveline raised an arm out to hold Herah from advancing towards the unknown camp. It wasn't the Dalish, they were camped towards the south not the east, no villages or farms. A caravan?

Questioning eyes looked to the older qunari.

The whispers told her only one throat needed to be slit. Keeper Marethari urged her to ignore the instructions from the veil for they were demons bent on leading her dangerous paths teetering on edge of deadly. But this voice was so reassuring, promising, asking for nothing in return; something a demon would never do.

Spirits, Merrill would call them.

A head rose above the bushes, the night watch stood to stretch her tired muscles. although they had limited interactions with humans, the both of them were familiar with the flaming sword emblem stamped on her breast plate.

Having studied their patterns to keep their mages safe, the Dalish had told them that the templars rarely traveled far from their towers, four days distance at most. Exceptions were few, one would be templars being transferred to a different towers; which would mean their families would travel with them.

There were no large cargo carts; instead it was a small camp in the middle of the wilderness with the nearest tower weeks away.

Aveline sucked a breath in when she finally spotted the cage wagon off to the left of the camp.

The squad was hunting someone.

The young mage put her hand to her pounding head, teeth ground together as the burning in her chest ached to be released and shouts in her ears drowned out the noises of the forest. It was getting harder to resist, so much harder to ignore.

It would be so easy to listen, perhaps just hear what they had to say and they would quiet down.

She could see her sister's worried face over her, eyelids suddenly heavy. When had she laid down?

Down

Down, a buzzing enveloped her.

She was entering the fade.

A familiar sensation, it was how she could so easily track their slumbering prey

But this time, she did not see any forest creatures.

Surrounding her were templars standing dead eyed in their signature armor. They kept staring blankly ahead as the child vashoth weaved her way around them. One of them, seemingly the oldest out of all of them, had a tear running down his cheek that contrasted with his stoic face.

Why was he-

The moment Aveline's hand touched him, the world fell away to a cobblestone courtyard. He continued to cry, intently watching something behind her.

Slowly, she turned her head around, keeping her hand press against him.

In the center of the yard stood a single gallow where a woman swung lazily from of her neck in an non existent breeze. Who was this woman?

_Sister_

Information flowed in the fade, all one had to do was ask.

It wasn't until she took a closer look did she notice an unfamiliar brand of what looked like the sun on her forehead.

' _Tranquil'_ the fade answered

Aveline's hand slid off of the man and the world morphed back with the circle of templars surrounding her. Each of them were crying now.

_Free them from their suffering_

The burning in her chest surged down into her arm. She raised her hand, there was nothing wrong on the surface of her skin but it pulsed with energy as if she was casting a spell.

_Free them_

Against all she was taught, she heeded the voice, giving into the urge to tap the man on his forehead. How she managed to do so with her short stature, she did not remember.

He folded onto the ground.

And one by one, so did the all the others.

Seven, eight, the last one fell and the darkness bled into her vision. The tree branches skittered like spiders above. There was something...wet on the side of her face? Was she crying?

Herah's worried face was barely illuminated by the moon, trails ran down from her eyes.

"Ave? Ave you alright?"

Finally, the familiar smell of blood wafted into her nose.

On the ground two paces away was the lifeless body of the night watch from earlier, her throat cleanly sliced open.

The rest of the squad laid still in their sleeping rolls.

By the morning, the bodies were buried as ashes and their inscribed helmets laid neatly around the cold fire pit. As proper a burial as they could manage.

She remembers lying in her bed roll that early morning, hands still trembling.

A dreamer, the keeper had called her

And later on, branded with a new word; Tactari.

Apparently the first of existence.

There was more fear than pride in Marethari's voice.

The slamming of a door tore Aveline from the old memory. She was back in the cold dark cell where the screams of the countless dead echoed off the stone walls. their voices were too distant, too frantic, carrying no words, only emotions.

A gloved hand gripped around her bare wrist, roughly pulling it up. As woman's lips moved, Aveline struggled to follow the woman's common tongue, hearing instead the stories the leather gloves had to tell. After all, their stories would be more truthful than any words the warrior would ever utter.

Drufallo, old, batter, blood...magical blood.

_A hunter of mages. Templar?_

The contact left and Aveline was left to stare wordlessly at the pair, her gaze drifted to the warrior's armor. A stark white eye atop a flaming sword pattern, similar to templars, but not quite. Her eyes flicked up, wondering about the story behind the scar on her face, why she would wear her hair in such a peculiar manner, who did she lose to have such sorrow in her eyes.

Finally, Aveline notices their incredulous looks, seeming to expect her to answer some kind of question.

The red headed woman stepped forward, crouching down to eye level with the mage. Her face was soft but her eyes were sharp like the dagger hidden in her boot.

The whimpers of a dying child silenced with a steel gag.

"Do you understand what we are saying?"

Aveline nodded, catching snippets the tortured whispers pouring from her garments. At such a close proximity, she was able to follow the interrogation of a merchant dwarf. Her outfit was not as old as the not-templar's but they both had witnessed just as much death.

"Do you remember what happened at the conclave."

Tension, hatred, reluctance, silence and then screaming. Who was screaming? Who was killing?

"An explosion, the veil tore, the whispers are louder." She tried to put the racing thoughts into words, usually, she could simply touch someone and they would understand. "You want me to help."

The woman raised an eyebrow. Aveline reached her ungloved hand out to the human, closer, more of the garbled voices; interrogations, executions, extortions, threats, secrets.

Old, old love. Long lost love.

Disappointment. Aveline listened closely.

Beneath her clothing laid a necklace with two gold charms shaped like puppies; trinkets of something she could not wear on the field.

"Take my hand, I can show you what I know."

They both frowned, the warrior's hand gripped around her sword. "Magic." she spat out with disgust.

The spy stood to her feet, crossing her arms across her chest. She was suspicious, cautious, rightfully so. "No, tell us."

"That I cannot do, words are difficult, not enough of them to explain. Death comes from the temple, they all screamed, the magic melted their flesh. They died, everyone died." She paused, taking notice on how the eyes of the two flicked away for a moment. Sadness, both women had lost someone dear in the blast.

"Take me to the tear, I will fix it."

Or at least she theorized she could, the Dalish had stories of their ancestors healing wounds in the veil. The mark on her hand drummed with a dull ache.

They were reluctant.

Arms hoisted her up and the restraints fell away. The insane mutterings of its last victim faded away with it. The cold air outside was saturated with fear and unease. She didn't need the warrior to tell her about the guilt the camp had already pinned on her.

She dragged her one bare hand along every surface along the way to the forward camp, combing through each vision for hints, different viewpoints of those who had passed. The conclave was to usher peace, control, order, suppress. The divine wanted to unite them, brainwash them, rule over them. Together, the conflicting opinions and truths muddied her mind and did little to help.

The staff she picked up helped her regain some sense of control on the situation. However, it did not ease the worry taking root in her chest.

_Why wasn't there a single mention of Herah?_

Aveline let out another grunt and a weary sigh. Battle after battle, the voices that had no face in the fade were now grotesque creatures in the mortal realm. Some of them sounded familiar as they disintegrated, they were whispers she had grown up hearing.

She frowned deeply and set the staff onto her back.

There was fighting right ahead, the singing of arrows cutting through the air. Magic buzzed alongside them, but that was not the only thing that caught Aveline s attention. It was elven magic; _ancient magic._

"Varric, dwarf, storyteller, and occasional unwanted tagalong." Varric, she recognized his name, back in Kirkwall, Merrill would often write about him in her letters. The top of his head barely reached her waistline, his red waistcoat wide open despite the biting cold.

She moved her attention to his companion.

"Solas, if there are to be introductions."

She narrowed her eyes and looked deep his light blue eyes.

"You are lying."

His fliched back a bit at the bold confrontation and glanced at the others as the mage towered over him. A smile spread across the vashoth's lips, she knew who he truly was no matter the face he wore.

"Aneth ara Fen'Harel" _Greetings, Dread Wolf_

Solas's eyes widened in shock, they again darted to Cassandra and Varric who were oblivious to the weight of Aveline's statement.

"Ir abelas _I apologize_. I was not aware that you were versed in the elven tongue"

Her fingers traced the ink that laid beneath the skin of her face, a frightening time then, a fond memory now. The expansive tattoo on her back had been far more painful.

Her qunari skin did not take the ink as willingly as she would've liked.

"My family traveled with the Sabrae clan, I learned under their keeper."

His face fell at the mention of the dalish. Despite his apparent disapproval, a small weight lifted from Aveline's shoulders, here was the being who created the veil in the beginning, a worthy ally.

They pressed on towards the temple, Solas refusing to make anymore eye contact with the vashoth. A battle later and Aveline finally noticed the absence of something that she had lived with since she was three.

Between the voices from beyond the veil and the incessant chattering of her sister, there was never a moment of silence.

But now, traveling beside the ancient dread wolf, there was nothing, as if the demons were too scared to speak.

It was quiet and it unnerved her to no end.

...

"I do hope you have a plan to get me up there, Cassy." Herah stared at the swirling mass of rocks looming high above the shattered remains of the church. Absentmindedly, she pressed her rough hands against the stone, feeling it warm under her touch. It was only a few days ago that she stood at this very spot beside her sister.

...

Her breath caught in her throat, the mark on her hand flared to life. She remembered this place when it was still a proper building; the excitement on Herah's face when they passed under its enormous doorway.

In her ears she heard the first voice from past the veil in well over two hours. Tears threatened spill. The stone was already warm to the touch despite the chilling snow around her.

The voice grew louder.

It was her sister

...

"Wish you were here, sis. Things are crazy, shits falling from the sky, this elf keeps looks at me funny," Solas scoffed and looked away as Herah glanced at him. "I was never real good at this magic stuff, just know how to stop it. Andraste's tits, don't know why I'm saying this here of all place."

She tightened her hand into a fist, willing her voice to not choke.

"You better be alive so I can beat your blasted face in myself."

...

"I am here." Aveline whispered, hoping that the she could hear her.

...

Herah lingered for a moment, swearing that she heard something in the howling wind. No words reach her ears.

"Let's get to it." Herah wiped her eyes, there was a breach that needed fixing.

She missed the sympathetic look Solas gave her as they press on.

...

The stone becomes cold.

Wordlessly, Aveline brought her sleeve up to dry her face. No one questioned her tears.


	3. Belief

_ “Blood magic is not evil; it is an exchange taste of life for the power of a spirit. When a mage fails to restrain themselves from giving the spirit more than they can afford, then a spirit becomes a demon. By then, all you can do is pray that there are capable fighters nearby.” - Aveline _

_ Bring the sacrifice forward _

_ Panic _

_ Pride _

_ What's going on here? _

_ Two voices  _

_ Wonder _

_ Horror _

_ Help me _

_ Slay the- _

“Aveline!"

With a grunt, the mage was barely able to raise a slab of soil up in time to shield them from the demon’s strike. Its fist smashed through the defense, showering the squad with dirt and sending Aveline flying across the clearing. The barrier she casted at the last moment softened the landing just enough for her to avoid major injury.

Her mind was frayed and distracted, the hundreds of voices that poured through the rift pleaded to be let free, demanded that it was their right, threatened that they would find a way. They were too strong, without Herah to help her shut them out, she would have to find something else to help her focused.

Or at least something to end the battle quickly.

An arm wrapped around her waist and for a brief moment, Aveline’s bare hand brushes against her beneficiary’s neck. Taking opportunity, she slid her eyes shut and listened.

Blood, Orlais, secrets, songs of a bard, chantry, a grey warden-

The spy let out an audible gasp and tore the hand from her skin. When a living being was being read, whatever Aveline saw, the other saw as well. The reaction was common of unexpectant individuals.

"What was that?" The woman questioned angrily, her dagger sliding into the perfect position to strike if needed.

"A touch."

Leliana’s frown deepened.

Aveline forces herself back on her feet. 

"You are no more harmed than a book is when read." 

Another shout and the pair had to leap out of the way of a line of crackling electricity. 

Time was running out, the soldiers were losing hope. Cassandra was quickly losing blood out of the gash on her side and the beast showed no sign of slowing down. An edge, she needed something...

_ Blood _

From her boot, Aveline drew out a thin dagger, its handle and blade marked by poor craftsmanship but it's edge sharp enough for its sole purpose. Grey flesh parted cleanly, the warm liquid poured from the cut.

Leliana was too shocked at the realization, mouth slightly parted as the blood stopped dripping and became suspended as fat, round droplets. Though her eyes were close, Aveline could felt the gaze of all those present bore into her.

_ The fade is only as endless only you think it to be. _

_ Like mortals, all spirits are willing to trade something for what they want. _

_ Unlike mortals, spirits are bound to their word. _

_ But words can be twisted _

_ Bartar wisely. _

"Spirits, I offer a taste of my blood to whomever can aid me in vanquishing this being that has crossed the veil. Come forth and seal him back in the fade, never to set foot in the mortal world again and I shall reward thee with a sparrow’s weight in blood." 

There was chattering that sounded for Aveline ears alone. Several of them offered that they could do so much more for two sparrows of blood, this she was accustomed to. 

She waited, to her an hour passed full of the loud hawking and demands of a better bargain. Until there was a soft voice that sounded next to her.

"I accept your offering, I will see that the pride demon be banished back into fade in exchange for a sparrow of blood."

Aveline extended her bleeding arm out to the wispy figure. Next came the buzzing as the payment was extracted and consumed. A surge of numbness threatened to make her collapse, it had been months since the last time she had to resort to blood magic.

Her hands moved on their own accord, the spirit guided them through a spell. She could feel the veil as it wrapped itself around her fingers. Confidently, she pulled them apart in a tearing motion and the sky beside the demon parted. 

Though it was not the first time she had used such a spell, this is the first time she had cast it on such a monstrous enemy. Her control over the spell teetered on the edge, a lost of focus would result in catastrophic damage. 

The tear widened, its maw revealing a warped vision of the abyss. 

Its screams rang through the mountains. No other voice challenged it.

Finally, the demon fell, its struggles useless as an unseen force dragged it into the tear. A resounding boom and they both disappeared into thin air. 

A gasp ripped from Aveline’s raw throat, feeling rushed  back into her arms. She fell to her knees, winded and gasping, arms throbbing, twisting, clenched into shaking fisits; she had newfound respect for the aid Herah provided in the past. 

The soldiers stood silent.

Cold steel kissed the back of her neck, the warrior voice was strained.

"Seal the rift then we shall speak further." The seeker did not promise an execution.

Nor did she promise freedom.

Aveline could simply turn around, the whispers told her, the burning in her chest coaxed her. It would be clean, offer the blood of a seeker, a prize no demon would pass up, to provide a distraction for her escape. Only one had to die and she would be free to find her sister.

It would be easy

Glorious

The blade pressed harder, splitting the skin.

Just one sacrifice

"Silence" 

Aveline waved her hand.

And it fell.

........

_ “It is so weird that a qunari can speak elven? I mean, you’d think in a world of so many races, there’d be more interest in learning more than Common tongue.” - Herah _

The sound of a door opening sent Herah mind on full alert. Breathes remained steady, eyes stay closed, footsteps sounded against the wooden floor boards. Fingers gripped the sheets under her pillow for the dagger-

No, she was not asleep in a bed roll in the middle of Maker knows where, there were proper blankets on her, a rather comfortable pillow wedged under her head.

Where was she?

The intruder drew closer, tentative small feet, light and bare.

An elf?

Herah rose as slowly as she could, doing her best not to startle-

A crate crashed to the ground followed by a string of apologies.

So much for that idea.

"Steady, Da'len  _ child _ ," she reached out to comfort the shaking servant.

Her actions only served to scare the elf further, her knees struck the floor beside the fallen crate, her forehead pressed down next to it.

"I'm sorry, my lady, I did not mean to wake you, I was sent here to drop off some herbs for the healer and-"

"Shut up,"

The girl shivered at the command, her body trying to curl up in it self.

"I-I'm sorry to have offended"

"Oh shut up and," Herah slid her hand under the elf and lifted her with ease. "Look at me,"

Reluctant, brown eyes met the qunari’s gray ones.

"There, now it don't sound like I got the back of a head talking at me." She gently brushed away the tears on the young girl’s face, "from the top, where am I?"

"You're in Haven my lady, after you sealed the rift, the lady Cassandra carried you back herself.”

_ Awww so Cassy does care. _

“You've been asleep for three days"

Herah let out a chuckle, "That would explain my insane need to piss.”

The elf eyes went wide and she feared that her little joke was going to send the poor girl into another fit of apologies.

"Lady Cassandra wanted to know the moment you awoke, at once." 

Somehow, she managed to twist her way out of Herah’s grip and scampered to the door. Grasping hands could not find a hold on the quick footed girl.

"Wait, where is she now?"

"In the keep, at once she said."

A step and a turn and the elf sprang out the door, leaving Herah alone with her rising frustrations. 

"Well, at least I’ve got time to piss."

......

Drip

Drip

Something about the sound felt oddly familiar.

Drip 

Drip

The clinking of armor, fearful, doubted confidence. strings of prayers muttered every few minutes

Aveline opened her eyes and confirmed her suspicion.

_ Templars _

They watched her from behind the metal bars, their pre-judgment of her apparent. Gauntleted hands were already raised, fingers hummed with a soft glow to stop any attempt at magic. Other than the humming, the room was silent and unnerving. 

Again, no voices, no whispers. 

She could, the smoldering in her chest whispered; sharp teeth would bite into the inside of her cheek, another offering, perhaps a little as three sparrows of blood and she could gain enough power to easily destroy her captors.

But without the whisperings from the fade, the choice would be entirely her own.

They all jumped when the iron door slammed open, Cassandra and the ‘glorified clerk’ walked in beside the fifth templar. His face was twisted into a disgusted scowl. There was no smell of blood, the seeker was healed in the span of time Aveline had been asleep. 

“Chain her, she is to be hung for her crimes against the Chantry.” In an instant, Cassandra stopped and glared at the chancellor. 

“She is my prisoner and my responsibility.” She looked expectantly at the five soldiers. “Ignore that and leave us.”

They hesitated. It took another stern look for them to nod and leave, one by one fileing out the door. The door shut with a clang that echoed off the musty walls. The dim lights, the look of disapproval etched on their faces.  

“She’s a maleficarum, surely you cannot overlook her blatant use of blood magic on holy ground none the less.”

The man was angry, his pride hurt. Accustomed to life where people would bend to his every beck and call. This, the entire situation, was new and strange and he could not adapt. Fear and stiffness drove him to this.

Aveline scoffed at the little man’s weakness.

“I was there, I heard the divine call out to her.”

Not only her, Aveline could hear the exact words as clear as day.

_ “What’s going on here?!” _

It had been Herah’s intuition to investigate the the sounds coming from the chambers beneath the temple. 

_ “Slay the qunaris.” _

They had both reached for the orb together. 

“Aveline Adaar.”

Aveline snapped back from the memory. The chancellor was no longer in the room, instead, it was the spymaster with the sharp eyes and a sharper knife. She was not the source of the voice, it had been a different tone, a softer one with an Antivan accent.

Two others had entered the space outside of her cell; a dark-skinned woman dressed in odd frilly clothing and -

Cullen Rutherford

The templar at Kirkwall. 

By the mixture of unease and disdain in his eye, it seemed that he had recognized her as well.

“We would like to discuss things further in the war room, perhaps some wine and food if you so desire. I pray that you bear us no ill will for our precautions.” 

She spoke again, her voice obviously practiced to put her at ease. 

“I do not attack unless I am provoked to do so.” Aveline narrowed her eyes at the man before shifting her gaze to the Antivan, “but I would appreciate a change of setting Lady..”

Herah was always a stickler for customs despite her brash demeanor. She made it a point to drill it into Aveline through their travels with the Valo-kas company.

“Montilyet. Josephine Montilyet, Lady Adaar.”

“Pardon me, I would like to have a word with the herald. I will escort her to the war room when we are finished.” Leliana stepped from the shadows with her hands clasped behind her back. As always, she wore an unreadable mask underneath her cowl.

The others regarded her for a moment, the air sang of distrust. So they were newly formed, a rag-tag group walking on a bed of eggshells. 

“Certainly.” Cullen nodded curtly, his hand never lifting from the pommel of his sword. 

_ An assassination plan? No, no motive, the breach has not been sealed, they will keep me alive until the task is done. Information on Herah? More obvious, she wants to know about me reading her. _

Aveline’s eyes followed the woman’s movements as she silently unlocked the door of the cell. Moments passed, no words were spoken, if Leliana was struggling to pull her thoughts together, she did a good job of hiding it. 

_ “Wise words from a thief, never play your card first.”  _

“Tell me about yourself.” 

_ She’s asking me to fold, or is she genuinely curious? _

“You are a spymaster, surely you have had ample time to gather information on my past.” 

The following silence was tense, neither persons wanting to back down, neither trusting the other. Afterall, the last memory Aveline had was one of Leliana’s allies holding a sword to her neck.

_ Are all rogues so stubborn? _

…

“Where the  _ fuck _ is my sister. You got her lock up, don’t you. Leverage, want a way to keep me here?”

Herah roared and slammed her fist on the large wooden table. the pompous attitude of chancellor Roderick had worn her nerves red raw. For a fellow Chantry folk, he was worse than the knight commander back at Kirkwall; at least she had a shred of modesty and concern for the well being of her people. 

“Look, I’ve done what you’ve asked right, give me something here.” 

“Herald-”

A dagger embedded itself into the wood under the map of Thedas. Herah loomed over the seeker, her voice lowered to a whisper. 

“Again, I do not wish to be called the ‘Herald of Andraste’, one more time and there will be a hand pinned beneath my blade.” 

Cassandra gritted her teeth, the audacity, the tantrum that this woman was throwing. However, she felt pulse of understanding, there were a handful of titles she would prefer not to be called by as well. 

“It would do you well not threaten your colleagues.” Cullen stepped forward, Herah’s eyes glancing down as he adjusted his sword. 

Searing anger prickled up her tense back, oh the joy she would feel tearing this man’s throat out. Her eyes screwed shut, it was exhausting sometimes; the persistent vashoth bloodlust. 

Understanding defeated anger. 

“If I may have the room, I would like to have a word with Herah.” The smooth Orlesian accent did little to calm the churning of her stomach. 

One by one, the others filed out until the sound of the door shutting ushered a tense silence into the room. The anger within her left as quickly as it had emerged.

_ Please, Maker, any news good or bad would be much appreciated. _

“Herah Adaar,” The spymaster began, “your mother; a late blooming mage. She fled the Qun with your father at the ages of 31 and 37 respectively. They wandered and years later, crossed paths with a Dalish clan being attacked by slavers. By aiding through battle and the subsequent healing that your mother provided, their keeper Merethari offered to allow your family to travel with them. Your mother perished during your birth but your father decided to keep you close to the clan. You secretly attended gatherings in the church at Kirkwall with the aid of the Viscount’s son. The Champion of Kirkwall later killed your clan, along with your father, and burned the side of your face. You fled, joined the Valo-kas company and was hired to attend the conclave.”

A moment passed before Herah shook her head in disbelief, not at the amount of information that Leliana had gathered about her in such little time but at the complete absence of a certain person. Denial, suspicion, panic; it all choked the back of her throat. What escaped was frayed around the edges.

“No, no, no,” Her words looped, as if repeating them made them more truthful, “You’re missing some, a very important something.” 

Her hands shook over the gnarled scar that had sown itself into the right side of her face and neck. She muttered, “She was the one that urged my parents to step in and help defend the Sabrae clan. This was not from Hawke, it was from my sister; my stupid, stick in the mud, irritatingly indifferent sister. A mage, my charge. Dear Maker, I have a  _ sister! _ ” 

The day of her injury visited her often; the insane, delirious cloud that muddied Aveline’s eyes, how consumed by anger she was. The desperate prayer she made when she performed what she learned from a stolen templar manual; would it be enough, would a demon’s call answer the mage’s cry for retribution. 

Herah had lost her sister once, she would not let it happen again. 

“The Valo-kas company, some still live yeah?” The vashoth said. Leliana nodded. 

Right, because they would remember. Years of fighting, drinking,  _ living;  _ perhaps Aveline had found her way back to them.

“Find them,” Herah glanced at the spymaster’s eyes, not finding pity, but something that had softened.

“Please find them.”


End file.
